


And in the darkness bind them

by FakeCirilla9



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Banter, Bonding, Fellowship of the Ring, Gen, Horses, Nazgûl | Ringwraiths, Necromancy, Third Age, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakeCirilla9/pseuds/FakeCirilla9
Summary: East and west bonding over love for horses
Relationships: Khamûl/Witch-King of Angmar
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	And in the darkness bind them

He emerged to the clearing only when there were no elves on it anymore. When their lights faded out in the dark and the last distant sounds of shrill voices died amidst the western thickets. He looked down the steep slope where the imps disappeared among the trees. It was an abrupt cut of the land, cluttered with windfall stems and overgrown with brambles. Gullies clove the hill at many angles. To race downwards would be a sure leg-breaking for Shadow.

His hooves were already bleeding, not used to the hard stony roads and all the humidity in the air.

_Curse that._

Khamûl took the horse by the reins and led him through the flat terrain back to the East Road, choosing a path to omit windthrows.

***

His master did not even acknowledge his shallow bow upon his returning but seeing him all alone, the lord hissed:

“Where are the halflings?”

Before the power of his displeasure hordes of orcs would quail. Yet over the countless years of service Khamûl had become used to his master’s moods and he did not baulk now. Besides, he got a decent excuse this time.

“I could not chase them over fen and hill! These lands are accursed. And Shadow’s not used to them after galloping on soft sands of Lithlad. Look at his hooves!”

The Witch-King’s wrath lessened and the air seemed lighter as he stooped to where the black stallion stood. Khamûl watched him warily as the Nazgûl’s Lord heaved up one of Shadow’s legs and investigated the injury. The man of the east did not dare to interfere even as he watched with distrust the Númenórean placing his hand hovering just above the aggrieved flesh of his mount and a light paler than moonlight radiating from the outstretched palm.

He needn’t worry. The hooves were treated well and after the sorcerer of Angmar ended muttering last spells not even a trace of erstwhile wounds could be seen on Shadow’s fetlocks. Khamûl still examined them suspiciously. The Witch-King beheld him with some mirth.

“Isn’t it odd,” he noted, “how even you, being the highest of your admittedly inferior race, fear witchcraft even though your very existence at this point is caused by magic.”

"The power of our Lord is different."

"How so?"

"He's a god.”

Witch-King looked at him pityingly.

"I take back all the kind words. You're just as superstitious and simple-minded as the rest of your kin."

"Shut up. It's unnatural."

"It's the effect of studies on the matter. I could have had raised an army of the dead once. I could wake my fallen soldiers and order them to battle again. They were terrified of us in Cardolan. And in Arthedain; everywhere."

"And so have you lost at last."

"That was the fiend from behind the Seas’ fault. It was a deception. He possessed arts not acquired on his own, they equipped him with powers surpassing his skill or ability to wield it. He was a tool of the Valar. And I am not as daft as to oppose those that have the power of gods verily. I learn from history. I will not fall as that fool Ar-Pharazôn."

"Seems to me like he lost to gods and you to one elf."

"Oh, since when you of all people are an expert in the field of history?"

Khamûl did not flash him a bodily smile, exactly, with his fleshless lips and ever-grinning bones of teeth but the atmosphere changed as if he smiled impudently.

"I learn from a master.”

***

“So I've been thinking…”

“Have you, truly? That's a surprise indeed.”

Khamûl glared at the Númenórean with malice that would freeze a mere mortal to death.

“…about what you boasted about,” he continued nonetheless, going on as if he has not been interrupted. The Witch-King wheezed furiously at his word choice but Khamûl did not heed the idle threat. “That raising people from the dead. There are dead people here, aren't there? These downs and sinister stones. Seems like your kind of tombs. And we were ruling lands not so far away so there must be plenty of corpses.”

“I thought you were afraid of choosing a path that goes against nature.”

“Yea but you had some point too. I'm hardly a figure that can be held up as a template for the natural way of things.”

“And what is your plan? You want me to raise the wrights from their barrows?”

“It could help our cause.”

“Perhaps. But will the men from Cardolan be of much help to us?” the Lord of the Nazgûl wondered aloud. The daft Easterling, of course, took it for a question of his opinion.

“I thought.” the insolent wildling said, “that all rose from the dead answer to the one who called them. At least as far as the necromancer has enough skills.”

Witch-King withheld the urge to smite him. It wouldn’t bring much effect anyway without a physical body to land the punch on.

“Of course they would listen to me,” he hissed instead, making his voice hurtful to Khamûl’s ears as a substitute of corporal punishment, “only they're weak, we destroyed them in one battle. Many years have passed to that. They are withered bones now and nothing more. Sometimes not even that. Not of much help.”

“Should be enough to defeat one halfling.”

“Your expedition failed in that till now.”

“In finding him! So small is easy to miss when here are all the trees around and the cursed fog. If I could see as I do in the desert at night that'd be all done by now.”

And so it was that the Morgul King descended into the misty valley of Barrow-downs and stirred the wights from their eternal sleep. All ghoulish creatures were raised to hunt the area in search for the thief that carried the One, while the Ringwraiths patrolled the old Great Road. But Khamûl stayed where his master had bid him, horseback and vigilant. Shadow snorted disquieted beneath him and the horse of the former king of Angmar that stood beside on a tether answered, equally disturbed. Khamûl stroked their necks and hushed them, calming the beasts in the fashion of Easterling folk.


End file.
